Christmas Nights with the Polo Player. Susan Stephens

avoid, Senhor Ortoya.’

      ‘You do have an allergic reaction to mistletoe,’ he observed dryly.

      ‘Yes. It’s called the fight-or-flight mechanism.’

      ‘Then stay and fight,’ he challenged.

      A tense moment passed, and then to his relief she smiled at him. ‘I might just do that,’ she warned, ‘and then you’ll be sorry.’

      He doubted that somehow. His senses were still reeling from Lucy’s clean soapy scent; she had felt warm and pliant beneath his ultra-sensitive hands. The brief touch of her lips hadn’t lasted nearly long enough for him, and he had been reluctant to let her go. But he couldn’t hold on to Lucy when she was trembling like an unbroken mare. She needed space rather than crowding. Pretending nonchalance, he tucked the errant twig away. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you a second time in one night. I was just carrying out one of my tests on the club. And I’m happy to see the mistletoe works.’

      If he thought that was the end of it, he was mistaken. Sitting very straight on the stool, Lucy lifted her chin to confront him. ‘Next time you plan a test run, Senhor Ortoya, please warn me in advance so I can call for my stunt double.’

      ‘It was that exciting?’ His lips quirked in a smile.

      ‘It wasn’t exciting at all. You just took me by surprise.’

      He laughed. That was him told. But Lucy had unwittingly transformed this encounter into a challenge he couldn’t let go of.

      ‘No harm done, then,’ he said, narrowing his eyes in concentration, as if putting the mistletoe back in its place required precision engineering. ‘There we are… You wouldn’t know anything untoward had happened here.’

      Really? Gabe was joking, wasn’t he? Her pulse had rocked off the scale, and she was still breathless. Gabe would always startle her, but not in the way he meant. She would never get used to the way he looked. The shadows cast by the bar lights only enhanced Gabe’s brutal beauty. Dressed all in black, he looked more like an avenging angel than a polished playboy with his thick, wavy black hair, his dark as night eyes and chiselled cheekbones, not to mention his firm, sexy mouth. The lightest brush of Gabe’s lips had been enough to fill her body with all sorts of needy heat. One minute they had been chatting and getting to know each other, and the next all she could think about was sex. Which she absolutely mustn’t do when she was working up to asking Gabe Ortoya for a really big favour.